


Over the Water

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:12:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guys go to London and get some surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Water

## Over the Water

by BAW

Author's website:  <http://www.sentinel2000.cwc.net/contents.htm>

Disclaimer: This is a piece of fanfiction, based on the television show The Sentinel; that show is and remains the property of Pet Fly and other entities. No copyright is claimed on the elements proper to that show, although the author does claim copyright to the original characters, situations, and other original elements.   


Notes: This is a part of the Jacob's Ladder series, and comes after The Shaman's Rage; however, if you haven't read it or any other story in the series, this story will still make sense if you remember:   
This story is post-TsbyBS;   
Sandburg took up Simon's offer and joined the Force;   
He now uses his middle name, Jacob (hence the title); his business card reads 'Detective B. Jacob Sandburg'.   
My other Jacob's Ladder stories are at http://www.sentinel2000.cwc.net/contents.htm for your perusal.   
Thanks: To Susan and my other British consultants; either George Bernard Shaw or Oscar Wilde said that "England and America are two countries separated by the same language." ( I have the guys quote this.) Thank you for saving me from some real howlers. Thanks, as usual, to my wonderful betareaders; even when I did not take your suggestions, I certainly appreciated your input.   


Feedback: lawrence81@iwon.com; feedback helps me become a better writer, so please. Even if you hate it (as long as you have cogent reasons--simple 'you suck' messages will be sent to where all such messages belong.)   
Archive: Yes; just tell me.   
Warnings: OFC; OMC; some Sandburgian angst.

This story is a sequel to: Shaman's Rage 

* * *

"What's on the agenda today?" asked the Sentinel of the Great City. "I'm going to be a little late to the Station today," replied his Guide & Shaman, "I need to go to Kinko's to copy off my notes for Alain and Adian, then to the post office to mail my hardcopy thesis to England." "I thought you e-mailed it."  
"Yes, and they've already read it. I just have to send them a hardcopy." "I'm amazed that you've had time. Things have been hopping at the Station." "Well, I'd done most of the work years ago. It was a seminar paper from Rainier, one of my graduate psychology courses. The professor loved it, and suggested that I expand it into a thesis for a second M.A. At the time, I didn't see the need, but for the DeMontfort people I dug it out, updated the bibliography, and then expanded it a bit." "What was your topic again?"  
"It had to do with personality types and vocational choices. I put a police twist to it. I'm sure you remember all the psychological tests they gave us at the Academy." "I remember. All those questions. I wondered why." "Well, I took the results from ten years ago and correlated them with the cadets' careers: how many are still in law enforcement, and how many decided that police work wasn't their cup of tea. And from the first group I examined their career choices within police work--who are still on patrol, who made detective, who went into specialized areas like forensics, SWAT, the bomb squad, etc.--again, correlating with the test results. For the second, I asked which were in some related field--private investigators, corporate security, and the like--and which were in totally different professions. I correlated the test results there, too." "It sounds interesting."  
"You can read it if you like, of course." "I doubt that I'd understand it--probably pretty technical for a 'big dumb cop.'" "Yes, technical, but you aren't a 'big dumb cop;' 'big' and 'a cop', yes--but not dumb!" replied Jacob, bouncing out of his seat and gesturing extravagently, "Don't you dare think about what that readheaded harpy said! If I ever meet her again, I'll certainly give her a piece of my mind; she was never good enough for you anyway. If you want to read my thesis, please do so; if you have trouble with any part of it, I'll explain it. Not being able to understand a highly technical document does not make one dumb." "Okay, okay! No need to get so vehement!" "Sorry, Jim; it still riles me. Anyway, I'm sharing my results with the Academy; they might find it useful. I'll take the Volvo, you take Sweetheart, and I'll catch up with you at the station." "Ellison, a word with you, if I may."  
Startled by his Captain's politeness, the Sentinel entered the office as Daniel might the den of lions. "Where's Sandburg?" asked Simon.  
"He had a couple of errands to run; he's on his way." "Well, I have a special assignment for you two. I'm sending you to a conference." "Captain, please!" implored Jim, "You know I hate those things." "This is different. There's an International Anti-Terrorism Conference in London; the C.P.D. was offered two places--the only American city offered more than one, and one of the few offered any. The Mayor and the Commissioner want our best team to attend; that means you and Sandburg." "You mean London, England?"  
"Of course. Here's your itinerary. Here's the schedule for the conference. Your tickets; your London Transport passes; your hotel registration documents. Now go, shuffle your schedule--get your cases so that they can be reassigned, make any personal arrangements you need, start packing." As soon as Sandburg came in from his errands and heard about the conference, he became very excited. "I hope we have some free time; I've not been to the British Museum in ages," he entheused. "This schedule shows a couple of free afternoons, and a few days after." "Great! Would you mind a little side-trip up to Leicester?" "Why?"  
"Well, the program did let me do the research on my own and consult with my advisors by e-mail, but they do insist on my defending in person. I was going to try to save up leave, but as we're going to England anyway, they might be willing to push it up," replied Sandburg; he continued, affecting a BBC accent, "Shall I e-mail my advisors?" "Sure. If need be, we could skip a conference day; it isn't as though we'd be out joyriding--you have a legitimate professional reason to pop up to Leicester." "I feel naked," said Jim.  
"Why?"  
"This is the longest I've gone unarmed since I joined the Force. When I handed our weapons to Simon at the airport, I felt like I was cutting of my arm." "Good think I'm not a Freudian, or I'd say something really mean right now." "Put a sock in it, Sigmund."  
"Jim, the point is I'm not a Freudian; not that he didn't have some points and insights, but to take his theories--or anyone else's, for that matter--as the last word is. . ." "Spare me the lecture, Sandburg."  
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are now beginning our approach to Heathrow Airport/London. Please return your seats to the upright position and fasten your seatbelts." After the aircraft landed and they disembarked, they found themselves in a long line for Customs. They noticed that, as the line slowly moved forward, a tall, bearded figure in a turban stayed at the head of the line. "Must be some problem with his entry visa," muttered Jim to Jacob, who nodded but gave a cryptic smile. Jim wondered what that look was about, but realized, when they came to the head of the line, that the Sikh was wearing the uniform of Her Majesty's Customs Service. Jim felt his ears getting warm, and he muttered to Jacob, "You knew, didn't you?" "Guessed," his partner whispered back, "What with the flotsam and jetsam of the Empire, Britain is more multicultural than it used to be." They had both bought Sterling Traveler's Checks in Cascade, and were therefore able to bypass the moneychangers in the airport, who are notorious for giving bad rates. They each cashed a 100.00 check, however, asking for a good mix of bills and coins, and made their way to the Underground station, taking the Picadilly line to Picadilly Circus; being both ravenous, they stopped at the first restaurant they saw and had dinner, consisting of: overdone roast beef with lumpy gravy;   
a mound of a glutinous substance which Sandburg identified as 'Yorkshire pudding'; vegetables boiled to a tasteless pulp; a gray, waxy substance, allegedly some form of cheese; a brown fluid optimistically referred to as coffee; some absolutely heavenly bread pudding (the meal's redeeming feature). "Tell me, Sandburg, is there some law here against using any form of seasoning other than salt and pepper--especially the former?" "No. But there's an old joke: 'Have you ever eaten English cooking? Oh, you have. Ever tasted English cooking? I thought not.' At the big hotels you get Continental cuisine, and there are many places for great ethnic food--especially Indian and Chinese; but native English cookery is not, by and large, that memorable. Then there are such delights as black pudding, bubble-and-squeak, toad-in-the-hole, bangers-and-mash; neeps-and-tatties; and various meat pies, such as steak-and-kidney or veal-and-ham." "And what are those? They sound disgusting." "Well, as for the meat pies, think Sweeny Todd. Black pudding is made from blood; I don't keep kosher, but one has to draw the line somewhere. Now, toad-in-the-hole is. . ." "I think that's more than I want to know, Chief. I'll depend on you to guide me through the minefield." After some discussion with the waiter about the bill-- a misunderstanding occasioned by a common British idiom meaning something entirely different to an American--they caught a cab to the Strand Palace Hotel. "I believe," said Jim, as they settled themselves into their cab, "that it was George Bernard Shaw who said that England and America are two countries separated by a common language." "I think it was Oscar Wilde, but point well taken," replied Jacob, "Now, how are we schedule-wise?" "A little ahead. We should get in with enough time to spare before the opening reception." They reached the hotel without too much trouble and were shown to their room. Jim pointed inquiringly at the mounds of blankets on their beds, and the extras folded in the closet. "They conquered half the world," said Jacob, "but never did quite master central heating. We'll probably need all those blankets. At least I will. What's the schedule like?" "We've got a couple hours until the reception. It says 'semiformal--black tie or dress uniforms'. Ugh!" "Well, forewarned is forearmed," muttered Sandburg; then, noticing a distressed look on his Sentinel's face, "What's the matter, Jim?" "I just got what you'd call a 'weird vibe.' It was sort of like. . . well, a bit like when--if you will excuse the expression--Alex came to town. But the sense of menace isn't there." "Jim!" said the excited Jacob, "do you know what this means? You said that you were sure that you and Alex weren't the only Sentinels around. You were right! " "But why here, why now? And why don't I feel a threat?" "Jim, this is a gathering of some of the best cops on the planet. An unbent Sentinel would be naturally attracted to law enforcement, and would be very good at it. As for the lack of a threat, there are two reasons. One, none of these are bent as Alex was; two, unless there is a Sentinel of London, none of you are in your own territory. I suggest that we do a little meditation to see if we can get our Spirit Guides to contact theirs." "Sandburg!"  
"Jim, I know you don't like these meditations, but if--when--you get near these people, you'll likely have a vision of their Spirit Guides. I'd rather not have you freak out in the middle of the reception when you see a cheetah or something." "Cheetah?"  
"Well, you're a black jaguar or a panther; Alex was a spotted jaguar or a leopard. I'm sure the others will have 'big ol' puddy-tats' hanging around. Now, we don't have our candles or incense here, but they aren't really necessary--just aids. I'll set the timer for thirty minutes." The two men assumed a lotus position and clasped hands. "That's it, Jim. Feel my pulse, hear my voice. Block out everything else and concentrate on the 'Sentinel Buzz." A half-hour later they came out of their trance. "Did you get anything, Jim?"  
"A lynx, a lioness, and two tigers. Just pictures--not a 'meeting in the jungle' scenario." "I got a red fox, a jackal, a wolf, and an Arctic fox." "Ok, I'm going to guess that the others are from Europe, Africa, India, and either Russia or China," the Sentinel hazarded. "Good thinking. Unless any of them happened to be meditating at the same time, I don't think they'd have seen the Panther or the Wolf, but they've all probably felt a 'vibe' from you. I don't know how they'll react." "We've time to shower and change before the reception." "I never thought I'd have to wear this again," muttered Sandburg, "and I can't believe you packed it." "Would you rather that we scramble around to rent a tux in a strange city, Chief? I told you there'd be at least one formal occasion, but you wouldn't listen, and I know you don't own a tux. It wasn't that hard to slip your dress uniform into the same garment bag as mine. Hist! We're almost there." They strode up to the table at the entrance to the reception hall. "James J. Ellison and B. Jacob Sandburg, from Cascade, Washington, USA," said Jim, presenting their credentials. "Ah, very good, Lt. Ellison, Det. Sandburg, I have you on my list. If you would sign in here? Very good," said the attendant. They entered the large hall; at one end a piano-string quintet was providing background sound. There was a long buffet table; many of the items had one of three symbols next to them. At each end of the table there was a key; it seemed that the three symbols meant kosher, halal, and vegetarian. "What does halal mean, Chief?"  
"Permitted to Muslims; kosher means permitted to Jews, as you may know. The rules are similar, but there are a few things permitted to Muslims which are trafe." "Trafe?"   
"Forbidden to observant Jews. Shellfish, for example. Are you getting a tingle?" "Yes," said Jim, accepting a glass of beer from an attendant, "over there." "The gray-haired man in the kilt? Hey, he looks a lot like your dad." "Yes, he does; and he's wearing McPherson." "A relative?"  
"Perhaps. I bet the lady he's with is his Guide." "The redhead? Yes, when I concentrate on her I get a sort of buzzing feeling," said Jacob, turning to the attendant offering him a glass of wine, "Excuse me, do you happen to know who those two are?" "Yes, sir. Lord and Lady Ellison." The attendant ignored the choking noise the tall American was making, and continued. "He was the second son; before his brother died and he inherited the title, Lord Ellison was a detective with the Aberdeen police. He still does consulting work. Her Ladyship is a Forensic Pathologist--also working as a consultant now." A little more mingling identified two of the other Sentinel-and-Guide pairs: two Sikhs and a pair of Russians; there was another buzz which they could not quite pin down. The Sikhs, apparently noticing them, nodded with knowing smiles. The Russians looked startled and relieved at the same time. The two Cascadians had separated several times, hooking up with various officers and civilian specialists from different parts of the globe, talking shop. Although it was interesting to compare the different problems and approaches, Jim found himself soon getting bored; Sandburg, of course, was in his element. Jim could almost see the wheels turning as his partner was thinking of ideas for articles. "Lt. Ellison?" said a voice at his elbow. He turned to see that same attendant. "Yes?"  
"His Lordship would like to speak to you." Jim had been vaguely dreading this. He wasn't sure exactly why, but for some reason didn't want to meet this distant relative--even if he was a Sentinel. However, part of him couldn't help wondering how common Sentinelism was in the family, and why it had gone dormant in the American branch until now. He wished that Sandburg was with him, but he had last seen him with a group of South Americans. Perhaps it was due to the psychic link between Sentinel and Guide, but no sooner had he thought of Sandburg than he was at his side. Soon they were brought to Lord and Lady Ellison. "Your Lordship," said Jim.  
"Not so formal!" said His Lordship, "we're family, after all. Call me Magnus. This is Fiona, Countess Ellison. Even without a genealogical search I know you're an Ellison; I've seen that face in the Family Gallery too many times." "I was thinking, Magnus," said Jim, "that you looked a great deal like my father." "Blood will tell; who is your friend?"  
"This is Jacob Sandburg, my partner. We're in the police department of Cascade, Washington, in the States." "Sandburg. Yes, I remember reading about you a couple of years ago. But let's not talk about it here. I've reserved a small meeting room for us." The Sentinel of Scotland and his Guide/Shamaness escorted them to a door on one side of the reception hall. Lady Ellison took a white noise generator out of her bag, set it on the table, and turned it on, muttering something about not being overheard. "Sandburg," said Lord Ellison, "why do you think that Burton's monograph was forgotten almost immediately after he published it?" asked Lord Ellison. "Er--because the theory was too fantastic?" the American Guide ventured. "More fantastic theories at the time were followed up on; some turned out to be true. No, we saw to it," replied the Scot. "We?"  
"The House of Ellison. We'd long known what we were, but we didn't want the rest of the world to know about it. Even back then, a Sentinel--at least in Western Civilization--could work best in secret. We monitored the learned world, and whenever we saw someone trying to follow up on Burton's theory, we encouraged him to take his researches elsewhere." "But. . .I was never discouraged, except by some of my advisors." "We Ellisons aren't as rich or powerful as we were, and the world had grown larger and more complex; and, I'll admit, that we had gotten a little complacent. Burton's work had been largely forgotten--except by one young man at an obscure university half a world away. The first we heard of you, you were renouncing your work. But it wasn't a fraud, was it?" "Are you sure I'm a relative?" asked Jim, noticing Jacob's nervousness. "My second son looks enough like you for you to be mistaken for one another. He's a major in the SAS; and yes, he's a Sentinel. There are two American branches of the family; one settled in Maryland, the other in Georgia. We're still in contact with the Baltimore Ellisons, although they've not produced a Sentinel in a long time. The Georgia Ellisons went out west after your Civil War, and we lost contact with them." "The Ellisons of Cascade" said Jim, speculatively, "came to the Oregon Territory just after the War Between the States--from Georgia. Family legend holds that Sherman's March to the Sea rolled right over our plantation, and we had nothing to pay the carpetbaggers' taxes with. It seems to fit." "Baltimore!" exclaimed Jacob, "I've theorized that Edgar Allen Poe might have known a Sentinel; the main character in The Fall of the House of Usher seems a lot like an unguided Sentinel." "Yes," said Lady Ellison, "I've read that story. There's no record of an association between the Baltimore Ellisons and Poe, but the absence of evidence is hardly evidence of absence." "And what of Arthur Conan Doyle? Sherlock Holmes acts like a Sentinel sometimes." "Conan Doyle knew the Lord Ellison of that time," said Magnus, "Holmes was partly based on him." "Magnus," asked Jacob, "how common is Sentinelism in your family?" "Almost everyone has at least one enhanced sense. A full Sentinel comes along, oh, about every other generation; my generation is lucky in that we have two--my brother is a Sentinel also. We usually marry as closely within the family as the law allows, to keep the Gifts undiluted." "What about Guides? How do you find your Guides?" said Jacob, trembling with excitement. "There are a couple of families that produce a great many Guides, and we keep close relations with them," explained Lord Ellison, "Guides aren't nearly as rare as Sentinels, and a Guide who never finds a Sentinel can get along a lot better than a Sentinel who never finds a Guide. An unbonded Guide will frequently become a teacher or a social worker, or will take Holy Orders. When one of our Sentinels is about ready to go away to school, we contact the Guide families and arrange to send one of the young Guides to the same school. It usually works out." "But your boarding schools are seldom co-educational," pointed out Jacob, "How did you and. . . ." "Ah, I was an exception. Ian Ross was a nice lad, and was able to guide me, but we never bonded. He ultimately bonded with my brother Jamie, who's a Medical Sentinel. Jamie's enhanced senses make him an excellent diagnostician." "Oh my! This confirms so many of my theories! Jim, you remember what I said about Megan, how I thought she was a Guide, and just needed to find a Sentinel?" "Who's Megan?" asked Lady Ellison.  
"She's a fellow-officer, in the same unit as we are. When I can't be with Jim, she acts as a 'backup Guide'." "She's a bit clumsy at it. She usually has to slap or pinch me to get me out of a zone; Jacob here just has to talk to me. She also can't talk me thorough a sensory maze the way Jacob does." "Zone?" asked the Scots Ellisons.  
"That's what we call it when I get caught in one sense, and sort of . . ." Jim hesitated, not sure how to explain a zone. "He turns into a flesh-colored Michelangelo," Jacob interrupted, "It almost never happens any more, though." "Not around Jacob; he sees the first sign and pulls me back before I slip over the edge," put in Jim, "Sometimes the sound of his voice or the touch of his hand stops me even before either of us is quite aware of it." "Ah, yes," said Lord Ellison, "We call it 'hearing the horns of Elfland.' And, you're right--once the Sentinel and Guide bond, it happens less often. The longer and the closer the bond, the less often it happens." "And your bond is very close; I can feel it," said Lady Ellison. "How did you two meet?" asked Jacob.  
"Over the corpse of a murder victim," replied Lord Ellison nostalgically; he quickly reverted to business and continued, "We generally prefer Guides to be the same sex as their Sentinel--unless one or both is homosexual, of course--because the bond is so close already that introducing an erotic element complicates things unnecessarily. But sometimes it works out--it did for us." After the reception broke up, the four moved over to Lord and Lady Ellison's suite at the Savoy, where they sat up talking for a great part of the night. Jim and Jacob told of their experiences, and Lord and Lady Ellison were able to bring up parallel instances from Ellison family history. Jacob aired his theories about Sentinels and Guides, which again were confirmed--and, alas, sometimes denied--from that same history. Finally, when all were too weary to make much sense, Jim and Jacob said good-night to their hosts and went back to their own hotel. The conference fell into a pattern. Jacob attended sessions dealing with the history, sociology, and psychology of terrorism. Jim went to sessions dealing with investigating and apprehending terrorist groups. They'd meet at lunch and dinner to exchange information. Free time was spent with Lord and Lady Ellison; the younger Sentinel/Guide pair were able to learn a great deal, and Jacob was up most nights taking notes. Sometimes Indian and Russian Sentinel/Guide pairs joined them. The Russians were as clueless as Jim and Jacob, feeling their way along; even more clueless, as neither had Jacob's previous interest or academic training. The Indians, on the other hand, were more like Lord & Lady Ellison; their families had been producing Sentinels and Guides from time out of mind, and they had a tradition to draw upon. Jacob sometimes got visions of the Panther, the Lynx, the Bengal Tiger, the Siberian Tiger, the Red Fox, the Arctic Fox, and the Eurasian Wolf superimposed on their human counterparts; he assumed that the others got similar effects, with the addition of a North American Timber Wolf for himself. The Lioness, with her attendant Jackal, remained elusive; she was almost certainly from some African country, but there was more than one represented, and more than one female officer among the African delegates. Then, about two-thirds of the way through the conference. . . . "Chief, she's here."  
"Jim? Who?"  
"The Lioness. I feel her. At about two o'clock. No, don't turn around. Look in the big mirror behind me. The tall, blond woman sitting with the dark-haired man." "I see them. Oh-oh! I think they see us. They're coming this way!" Jim and Jacob arose. The tall woman looked at Jim, and spoke in a strong South African accent. "Watchman, what of the night?"  
"Morning comes, and so does evening; ask again tomorrow," replied Jim. The dark-haired, hazel-eyed man fixed Jacob, and said: "And they were guided in the day by a pillar of cloud. . ." "And by night by a pillar of fire," replied Jacob. Like Jim, he picked up the Biblical references, but had never heard them used ritualistically to identify a Sentinel and Guide. They made sense, though. The two South Africans sat down.  
"I'm Inspector Grace van der Woort of the Johannesburg Police; this is my partner, Inspector Pier Koch. I know of three others of our kind here, although I've not spoken to any of them." "I'm James Ellison of Cascade, Washington, U.S.A.; this is my partner, B. Jacob Sandburg." "Cascade. That's interesting. My mother was from Cascade. I'm named for her." Jim turned pale. With a muttered "Excuse me" he headed for the men's room. Making apologies, Jacob followed him. He found him gazing at the mirror. "Jim, what's wrong?"  
"My mother, as you know, ran off with the tennis pro. I don't think I ever told you he was South African. I can't be sure, but I think that woman is my half-sister. How many South African women, of that age, with a mother named Grace who came from Cascade can there be?" "Oh, man. Oh, man. Oh, man!"  
"My reaction exactly."  
"You realize, she probably thinks you're either insane or have no manners. What are we going to do?" "Stay in here until she goes away, then avoid them for the rest of the conference?" "No, Jim," said Jacob in The Voice, "That's the coward's way out. You are not and have never been a coward. Now, wash your face, take a deep breath and go out and meet her." "Now I know how the early Christians felt. Except that in this case I only have to face one Lioness." Jacob hummed the Martyrs' Chorus from Quo Vadis. Jim made a face at him, but felt instantly better. Actually, it proved to be not so bad. When Grace learned the reason for Jim's precipitous exit, she became highly apologetic. "Believe me, Jim--may I call you that? If I'd known of the relationship, I'd never have intruded. But once you know something, you can't unknow it, can you?" "Did she ever tell you why? My brother and I were very small; all we knew was that she just up and left. I was eight, Stevie was five." Grace counted backwards on her fingers. "She never told me, but I think I can figure it out. She was pregnant. With me. By her lover; my father. A trip to Nevada for a quickie divorce, a hurried remarriage, then back to Jo-burg. Father got a job as tennis coach and games master at a private boys' school; he later became headmaster. Pier here was a boy at the school. After leaving school, we both went to the Police Academy--that's where I really got to know him." "And when," asked Jacob, "did you know you were a Sentinel?" "My senses came online in the Academy. Pier helped me cope. We got partnered as soon as we got out and have been together ever since. I'm married; Pier isn't." "I've got a lifepartner, though," said Pier, "Hezikiah and I have been together five years now." He looked at Jim and Jacob, almost daring them to make something of it. They both just nodded. "Have you met Lord Ellison?" asked Jim. "No. Why?"  
"I think, when you meet him, you'll know. It really isn't for me to tell you--even if you are my half-sister." The conversation turned to other things. Before the afternoon session started, Grace and Jim exchanged addresses; Grace said she would try to get their mother to write him a letter. She also promised to meet Lord Ellison. "Well, Chief, that was interesting," said Jim once they were back in their room. "That's one word for it, Jim. Now, what do you feel about it?" "Part of me wants to hate her; part of me wants to get to know her better. It isn't fair to hate her--what our mother did is hardly her fault." "How do you feel about your mother?"  
"Again, part of me wants to hate her. But. . ." "But what?"  
"Part of that is the abandoned little boy in me. As an adult, I can see that my father couldn't have been easy to get along with--to put it as politely as possible--and that she didn't do it to hurt us. If she were in the United States, I'd probably try to get together with her. As it is, if she writes me, I'll read her letter, and at least think about answering. Now, let's discuss the Sentinel aspect. How come she's a Sentinel when none of my other relatives, except for Adian, are--and him only a half-Sentinel?" "Well--this is just thinking out loud, mind you. Remember that Lord Ellison said that the Scots branch of the family were mostly endogamous?" "In English, Chief, not Anthropoligese." "That they married mostly within their own group?" "Yes."  
"I don't imagine that the American branches of the family were so careful. He said the Baltimore Ellisons haven't produced a Sentinel in a long time; probably the Georgia Ellisons, from whom you seem to be descended, haven't either. I theorize that Grace Hunter, as she was then, came from a Sentinel lineage too, although also diluted and inactive. I wonder if the family got the name 'Hunter' because they were Sentinels? Now, I don't really believe in sociobiology, but what if at some very deep level your parents' dormant Sentinel genes recognized each other, and they were drawn together like you and Alex were in Sierra Verde?" Jim winced.  
"Sorry, Jim; I'm getting into Scholar Mode and forgetting to be the friend and Guide." "No, go on. The Scholar has something to say, and I think I need to hear it, even if it hurts." "Well, after they had made their Sentinel--you--there being not much else between them, they drifted apart. When she met her true soulmate, who also happened to have Sentinel blood--I say that in light of your half-sister's abilities--well, I guess William really didn't have a chance. I mean, what if you an Alex had had ten minutes longer on that beach? Do you think you could have made a life together, each of you being what you are? Your parents weren't quite as much a mismatch, but you see what I mean. But could she really have hauled you and Steven along?" "No, probably not."  
"So, it was probably for the best. After all, if you'd been raised in South Africa, you'd never have gone to Peru, the Chopec probably would have been overrun by the drug dealers and the oil companies, so many of Cascade's criminals would never have been caught, and. . . " "And you and I would probably never have met; that's the most important part. How could I have functioned without my true Guide?" "Aww. . . .Jim. Actually, knowing you, you'd have been repulsed by aparthied and would have left South Africa as soon as you were old enough to leave home. I can see you at 18 marching into the U.S. Consulate, insisting that you were an American citizen, the son of William Ellison of Cascade, WA, demanding repatriation. Well, as C. S. Lewis said, nobody is ever told what would have happened." "Do you think the other unsuitable women I've been attracted to were Sentinelism-carriers too?" "Some, perhaps; but I think you just have lousy judgment when it comes to women." Jim hit him with a pillow and all thoughts of serious discussion were suspended for about a quarter hour. "What's the schedule tomorrow?" asked Jim. "None of the seminars look at all interesting; unless there's one of particular interest to you, what say we 'play hookie' and do some sightseeing?" "Good. When's your defense scheduled?"  
"I'm waiting to hear back from them."  
The next day they left the conference center early and decided to explore London a bit. The first thing they did was go up on the Millennium Eye, Jacob muttering "I'm calm, I'm calm," and Jim fending off a zone by sheer force of will. The view of London was, however, worth it. Jacob insisted that they visit the British Museum, and became quite Blairesque as he dragged Jim--who really only protested because it felt expected of him--through the exhibits. "Jim, look!" he said in the Egyptian Room, pointing at a statue. Obediently, Jim looked. It was a life-sized representation of a Nubian warrior. He looked a little more closely. "Good Lord! That's Simon!"  
When they found in the Gift Shop a small-scale reproduction of the statue, they absolutely had to get it for their Captain. After the Museum, they grabbed some fish and chips for lunch. ("Almost as bad for you as Wonderburger." "Almost as tasty, too.") They went to the Tower of London and Westminster Abbey in the afternoon. They then went to St. Paul's Cathedral, but were able to see very little of it before Evensong. When the usher informed them that they were welcome to join the service, but if they were just there as tourists they would have to leave, they decided to stay. "Dial down your hearing, Jim," whispered Jacob as the prelude began, "the acoustics here are quite 'live.'" After the service they had dinner at a little Indian place, then took the tube back to the hotel; there was a message to have Jacob call his DeMontfort advisor--at home if need be. He did so, and was told that his thesis defense would be on the second day after the conference. As they came for their usual evening meeting with Lord & Lady Ellison, the former heard them talking about it, and inquired about the matter; when they explained, they immediately had the Ellison car and driver placed at their disposal. "James, I met a nice young South African lady. She said you sent her to me," Lord Ellison said in an odd tone of voice; it was hard to tell if he were pleased or angry. "What did she say?"  
"That she was your half-sister and a Sentinel herself. I tested her and found out that the latter was true; I presume the former is also. Why didn't you tell me about her?" "Because I didn't know myself that she existed, much less that she was a Sentinel," replied Jim, "but once I found out, I felt that I should get her together with you." "Yes, and quite right. I'm not angry with you. But this conference has made me re-think some things--meeting you two, the Indians, the Russians, your half-sister and her Guide. I think it is time we let a little of the secrecy loosen up a bit. Now hear me out!" he said, raising his hand at the Americans' strangled exclamations, "I'm not saying that we proclaim from the housetops who we are. Heavens no! "But it seems that more Sentinels are emerging; I'm not sure why, but I suspect that it may be because we are or will soon be needed. Jamie and I are both Sentinels--the first time two brothers were both Sentinels in over three hundred years. All Fiona's and my children, not to mention my nephews and nieces, have at least three heightened senses each; my son is a Sentinel and so is one nephew. We know, or know of, at least four Sentinels that have emerged from dormant lines--you, your half-sister, that crazy Barnes woman you told me about, and the Russian. There may be more around who don't know what they are; they must be frantic. Some may be locked up in asylums under the impression that what they sense are hallucinations. The knowledge of what Sentinels are, and how enhanced senses aren't a curse, but a blessing, must get out." "Magnus. . .Your Lordship. . ." began Jacob, "Jim and I have thought the same, and we've started something that may do that. Your help would be appreciated; there must be valuable records in your family archives." "Tell us," said the peer.  
"I have a close friend, Fr. Alain Reynolds of the Royal Canadian Institute of Biblical Research. He knew of my Sentinel research before everything fell apart, and never believed my recantation. He knows about Jim. I've given him my research and he's started work on a second doctorate; he already has a Th.D. in Biblical Archaeology, but now he's started work on a Ph.D. in History from the University of Toronto. His dissertation topic: Burton's Sentinels: Myth or Fact? He's going to go over my research and build on it, focusing on the ancient sources; he'll speculate a little about the possibility of modern Sentinels, but isn't going to let out that he knows one." "And I have a cousin," said Jim, encouraged by His Lordship's approving nod, "Adian O'Mally; his great-grandmother was my great-grandfather's sister, and he has two and a half enhanced senses himself: smell, taste, and partially enhanced hearing. He's started work on his Ph.D. at the University of Washington, in Sociology, with the dissertation topic Vocational Applications of Enhanced Senses. I'm going to appear as one of his case studies, identified as 'a policeman, with multiple enhanced senses, who serves as a living forensics laboratory; while trace evidence he is able to discern, too faint for normal senses, is inadmissible in court, his perceptions are a valuable guide for more conventional investigators.'" "Hey, Jim--you're getting good at thesis-speak!" said Jacob. "Hanging around with you, Darwin!"  
"In any case, both their work would be enhanced if they could have access to you and your family history. May we give them your names and addresses?" "Gladly," said the Scots peer.  
The rest of the conference passed uneventfully; both men gathered some valuable insights into the problem of Terrorism. Both felt, however, that the Sentinalian aspect of the trip was more valuable. They decided to check out directly after the closing ceremonies, go to Leicester, spend the night there, then have all day for Jacob's thesis defense. They told Lord & Lady Ellison, who agreed, and promised to inform their chauffeur, who would run them up. They'd take the train to London to catch their flight back to Cascade afterwards. "Jim!" said Jacob, as they exited the hotel the morning after the conference, "There's our ride." "I see, Chief."  
"Jim, it's a Jaguar. A black Jaguar."  
"So it is."  
"Isn't that a bit of a. . . ."  
". . .coincidence? Chief, with you I've learned to expect coincidences." Soon they left London behind; the rain let up, and the fog lifted to reveal lush green fields opening out on either side of the motorway as they continued their northward journey. "Now I understand Blake," said Jim.  
"What?"  
"''Til we've rebuilt Jerusalem / in England's green and pleasant land,' " he quoted, "I've also come to understand that line from Shakespeare: 'The rain, it raineth every day.'" "Jim! I never knew you had it in you!"  
"I may be a 'throwback to a pre-civilized breed of man,' but I'm not a total Neanderthal." "I know that--but you don't normally quote the poets. Anyhow, the warm waters of the Gulf Stream hit the cold waters coming down from the Arctic," said Jacob, gesturing Blairesquely, "That accounts for all the fog and gentle rain, the generally temperate climate, and why the British Isles are much warmer than one would think from looking at the map. In some sheltered parts of Cornwall--that's the peninsula that sticks out the southwest corner of Great Britian--I'm told that palm trees actually grow. The climate here's not so different from back home; that's why the British felt so comfortable in Vancouver and Victoria." They arrived in Leicester at just about noon. Lord Ellison's chauffeur drove them to a pub near the DMU campus. They insisted on treating the man to lunch; he looked somewhat embarrassed, but agreed, even suggesting that they allow him to order. He asked for something which the Americans did not quite understand, and soon they were brought a pitcher of warm, dark, bitter, British beer, (a soft drink for the driver, of course!), a loaf of bread, a plate of assorted cheeses and cold cooked meats, and a bowl of fruit. "This," said Jim, after assembling his first sandwich, "is enough to make me re-think my opinion of British cuisine." "Me, too," said Jacob, "simple, hearty fare, nothing fancy. If you'll forgive my saying so, but it seems that when the British cook tries to get elaborate, he falls flat on his face." "No offence taken, sir," said the chauffeur, "I think you might have something there. I spoke to the landlord; he says that if you gentlemen don't insist on a private bath he can put you up. There's a few rooms upstairs; not posh, he says, but clean and comfortable." The next morning Jacob was too nervous to eat much more than a bit of toast. After breakfast he took out his map of the campus and pulled from the bottom of his suitcase his black master's gown and his Rainier M.Phil. hood, the latter folded neatly in a clear plastic case equipped with a carrying handle; Jacob draped the gown over his arm, took the hood case in one hand and a hardcopy of his thesis in the other. He handed a map to Jim. "So, Jim, what are you going to do while I'm being grilled?" "Waiting outside the door. Carefully not eavesdropping. Worrying myself sick over what's going on in there." "Jim, there's no need for that. You can go do some sight-seeing. . ." "Chief, even if I did, I'd be thinking about you and worrying about you, and probably unconsciously extend my hearing to catch your heartbeat and then--wham!--an extra gargoyle for Leicester Cathedral." "I see your point," said Jacob, smiling a bit at the image of Jim as a gargoyle. Following the map, they made their way to the psychology building. The receptionist directed them to the committee room. In the hall outside Jacob pulled on his gown, settled his hood over his shoulders, put on his mortar board, and took a deep breath. "How do I look?"  
"Oh, Chief. . .you look like Blair again!" said Jim, reaching out to smooth down the front of the gown, adjust the cap, and shevel the hood. "Wish me luck!"  
"Knock 'em dead, Darwin."  
"Mr. Sandburg?" said a dry academic voice, "We're ready." "Moriturus vos saluto," muttered Sandburg, entering the room. Several hours later, the door flew open and a curly-headed cannon ball was fired out. "I did it, Jim! They ate it up!"  
"I knew you would, Chief."  
They hurried back to the pub, where they placed a trunk call to Ellison Hall, for Lord & Lady Ellison had insisted on being informed of the outcome immediately. The landlord allowed Jacob to use his computer to send an e-mail to their friends in America, then suggested the ideal place in Leicester to celebrate. The next day they took a taxi to the station, grabbed the train to London, and then 'tubed it' to the airport, where they caught their flight back to Cascade. The cab pulled up to Prospect Avenue; looking up, they saw the lights in the Loft on. "How many people are there?" asked Jacob. "Five. Two women, three men. I smell--Italian," replied Jim. Upon entering the Loft, they were greeted by Simon, Megan, Steven & Maggie, and William. They had made dinner, built a fire, and generally had everything ready for the returning travelers. For some time it was all eating and drinking; the gifts they had brought were given out and duly admired--especially Simon's Nubian Warrior. Jim and Jacob told about the conference, and their meeting with Lord Ellison and the other Sentinels; they did not mention Grace specifically--that was for family only--but everything else was fair game. Jacob triumphantly announced his new academic attainment, and said that he was going to apply straightaway for the Psychology Ph.D. program at the Union Institute. "I'm not sure what my topic will be," he said, "but I'll steer clear of enhanced senses; nothing to draw attention to Jim or me." "Jimmy," said William, "I can't say it often enough, but I'm so sorry about not accepting your gifts. Especially now that I find that they're a part of the Ellison legacy. They seemed so--weird. I was scared for you." "Dad. . .Dad, really, I understand. I was angry at you for so many years, but I'm better now. Jacob here has taught me that nursing hatred and anger is counterproductive. Not only does it take energy, but also it ultimately turns on oneself. Do I wish things had been different? Of course. Do I hate you for it? Certainly not--not any more." "Do you think that if we went to Scotland that Lord Ellison would let us visit?" asked Steven, "I'd really like to know more about the gifts." "I think he would," said Jacob, "Oh! I just remembered--Magnus' brother is also a Sentinel, and his Guide's last name is Ross. Perhaps, Maggie, you come from a Guide line! If there were some way to trigger Steven's Sentinel potential. . . " "Possible; but Ross is a pretty common Scots name," she replied, thoughtfully, "But what if I weren't a Guide? Or not his Guide? Then we'd have to find a Guide for him--and where would we look? It isn't as though we could take out an ad in the Cascade Times." "You're right. They implied that they had a way of recognizing potential Guides, but we never got around to specifics." "Besides," said Steven, "I'm hardly in a position to need Sentinel gifts. I really don't see how enhanced senses would be applicable in my line of work." Shortly after this, both Jim and Jacob started to wilt; the others noticed this, and made their good-byes. Simon told them that they could have the next day to get 'un-jet-lagged', but that he expected them in the day after, and would expect a written report of the Conference within a week. Their guests having departed, the Sentinel and Guide sought their beds. The next morning, for a wonder, Jim slept in. When he awoke, he padded down the stairs to find his Guide on the balcony, sipping coffee and looking out over the city. "'Morning, Chief."  
"Oh, good morning, Jim."  
"You look lost in thought."  
"Well, yes. I was thinking about my trashing my anthropology career, denouncing my Sentinel dissertation as a fraud and everything--and now, with Alain and Adian and Magnus most of the information will come out anyway." "Are you sad about it?"  
"A little. All that work, all that pain--and what I tried to suppress being revealed. Alain and Adian will be using my work, and they'll be getting the credit. Sure, I agreed--even urged them. But still, it hurt. Hurts." "I can understand that, Chief; like when one goes undercover, gathers information, and then the officers who make the arrest get the glory." "Something like that."  
"And, Chief, you know what I always said to myself? That the main thing is bringing the criminals to justice; who gets the credit doesn't matter." "Does it help?"  
"A little. Eventually."  
"How many Sentinels do you think are out there?" asked Jacob, after a thoughtful silence. "More than we thought, Chief; and Magnus was right--if only for their sakes the knowledge should get out there." "What do you think Magnus meant about the world needing Sentinels?" "I don't know. But we've seen evidence of something guiding us. That old part-Chopec silversmith making the medallions, then his son sending them to Cascade, then Mrs. Rollvaag passing them on to us. I could have gone anywhere after the Army, but I came back to Cascade. You could have studied anywhere, but you chose Rainier. And you just happened to have been tutoring that nurse. So many things just happening to bring us here. Then Alex happening to be drawn to Cascade, and just now our just happening to be picked for the trip to London, and all those Sentinels--especially Magnus and Grace--happening to be in attendance." "Kairos."   
"What?"  
"Greek. It means the exact right time--earlier too soon, later too late. Moira. Fate; destiny. I was not destined to be the one to reveal Sentinels to the world. Alain will show that Burton's Sentinels did exist and that, in the absence of any reason for them having died out, they probably still exist. Adian will show that there is a place for people with enhanced senses in society. Someone is bound to tie the two together. Perhaps Magnus will sponsor someone at Oxford or St. Andrews. It really doesn't matter that it won't be me, you're right; what matters is getting the knowledge out there. But, Jim, I so much wanted to be the one!" "Yes, I know, Jacob; you gave up everything for me, and. . ." "It was a willing sacrifice, Jim; you had to be protected. Even if you were just my research subject--forget the Sentinel/Guide thing, or the friendship thing--any ethical scientist working with human subjects knows that the subjects' welfare is paramount, even at the expense of the project. And as your Guide, my place is by your side while we both live. "And I've made a good life for myself as Jacob. I've won over most of the skeptics in the Department--even the ones who don't like me, respect me; the few I haven't won over are at least mostly polite. As Jacob, I've helped a great many people. As Jacob, I've done my bit to make Cascade a better, safer place to live. As Jacob, I'm happy. For the most part. Oh, but, sometimes, Jim--sometimes Blair's ghost awakens, and he mourns for what might have been." The Sentinel of the Great City had nothing to say to this. He wrapped his strong arms around his sorrowing Guide as they stood together under the morning sun. =end= 

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End Over the Water by BAW: lawrence81@iwon.com

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